


Compromise, and Clorox Wipes

by LogicalBookThief



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Bliss, Family Fluff, Flirting, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Life, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Slice of Life, middle-aged men being gross and cute and in love with each other, more at 11
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21836950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalBookThief/pseuds/LogicalBookThief
Summary: Eddie rolls his eyes. “At least for Nina, it’s only a crush. It could be worse,” he scoffs. “They could be dating.”Richie tries to school his expression, he does, but – the thing is. After spending almost their whole fucking lives together, minus those twenty-two years of amnesia in between, Eddie can spot his tells from a mile away.“Wait. They are?!” He slaps a hand over his mouth, aghast. “Our daughter is dating a nose-picker?”He says it with the disdain of someone describing a serial killer.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 21
Kudos: 241





	Compromise, and Clorox Wipes

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt I did over on tumblr and decided, what the heck, might as well post it here too! Please appreciate the ridiculousness of this.

Richie kicks the door closed with his foot, already slipping it halfway out of his shoe. He dumps his duffel on the floor, which Eddie’ll chide him for later. That’s a problem for future Richie, not present Richie, who’s running on pure caffeine after his non-stop flight from Atlanta to LA.

The distant thump of 80s music lures him to the kitchen. Eddie’s humming along to the radio as he rinses lettuce for one of his seasonal salads. Richie would bet his life it includes pine nuts. 

Padding quietly across the hardwood, Richie warps his arms around his husband from behind. “Honey, I’m home!”

Eddie jolts, relaxing the minute he feels the frame of Richie’s glasses against his head. “Jesus,” he sighs, dropping to a whisper. “Jack, what’re you doing, you know my husband’s coming home today!”

“Jack?!” Richie squawks, twisting him around by the lapels. “As in, our _mailman?”_

“Oh, whoops,” Eddie feigns shock, the facade lasting all of a second before he throws his arms around Richie’s neck, swooping in for a kiss. 

Richie moans, a little satisfied hum against Eddie’s lips. “Where’s my other sweetheart?”

His husband adjusts his shirt where it’s riding up, due to his Richie’s wandering hands. “Moping,” he explains, delicately.

“She’s seven. What does she have to mope about?” Richie deadpans. His mouth twists into a grimace. “Wait. Are you trying the tuna casserole recipe again?”

Eddie whips around. “What the fuck’s wrong with my–?”

“Nothing!” he answers quickly. Eddie narrows his eyes, wielding the salad-spinner like he wants to use it on something besides leafy greens. “So what’s eating my little Spaghetti-o?”

“Mrs. Diaz separated her from her cubby-buddy, Jonas,” Eddie informs, eyebrows rocketing to his hairline. “Apparently they were too _disruptive_ as a pair.”

“Jonas? Isn’t that the nose-picker?” He regrets this observation as Eddie gags over the croutons. 

Everyone has a _thing_ , a thing that trips the gag reflex. Many things bring out that response in Eddie, yet none so viscerally as his aversion to snot, boogers, and the like. Ever since they were kids, it was the surefire way to make him heave. Even if the snot in question was connected to their child.

So when it came to boogers, Richie was the go-to parent, while Eddie graciously agreed to handle the diaper meltdowns. After all, the key to a successful marriage is compromise. Compromise, and lots of Clorox wipes. 

At the school’s Christmas pageant last year, the boy standing next to Nina started digging for gold halfway through _Twelve Days of Christmas_ and found a nugget before they hit two turtle-doves. Poor Eds nearly hurled in Richie’s lap. 

“Don’t remind me,” Eddie shudders. “Anyway, she’s heartbroken over it. As soon as we got home she ran to her room. I tried to talk to her when I brought her a snack and she asked me to please _give her time.”_

Richie imagines that coming out of his seven-year-old’s mouth and snorts. “Sorry,” he adds. “Not funny.”

Eddie ducks his chin to hide his smile. “Even for her, it’s a tad overdramatic,” he admits, glancing up at Richie through his lashes. “I didn’t have the heart to pester her, but, maybe since you’re home…”

“I’m on it!” Richie stretches the lingering kinks out of his neck. “I’m a world-famous comedian back from a sold-out show. Cheering our daughter up should be a cinch.”

“Mhm,” Eddie intones, not sounding very confident. Which, rude. He seems rather distracted by the length of Richie’s biceps as they stretch over his head. His eyes gleam with an _anticipation_ that has nothing to do with salad. Richie’s got the same itch crawling beneath his skin and he’s _very_ eager to scratch it. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and the dick grow harder. 

His knocks at Nina’s room are ignored, so Richie gently pushes the door open to peer inside. At the sight of his daughter curled up on the bed, he breaks into a smile.

“Eyyy, there’s my girl!” 

Nina raises her head from the pillow, uttering a curt, “Hi, Dad.”

Well, that’s far less enthusiasm than he was expecting. Considering he was gone for almost a _week_. Nothing like a child’s indifference to keep you humble.

“Aww, sweetie, what’s wrong?” His ears perk at the soft croon of Whitney Houston in the background. “And … what the heck are you listening to?”

“Playlist,” she mutters, blindly flinging an arm toward her device. She’s got it open to _his_ Spotify. 

Richie should probably delete the app from her tablet, like, yesterday. If she ever stumbles across his “Songs to fuck Eddie to” playlist he’ll have to commit samurai-suicide.

However. Given _this_ playlist is called “Sad love songs to cry into your Chipotle burrito,” Richie has a better idea of what type of crisis he’s dealing with here. 

“Sooo, uh. Your daddy told me. You and Jonas, you two are…?” He winces at her lip-tremble, which confirms his worst suspicions. “That’s rough, kiddo.”

“I’ll never be happy again,” Nina sniffs miserably. “I love Jonas and now we’ll never see each other!”

“You are still in the same class,” Richie points out.

She whirls on him, eyes flashing lividly.

“We sit by _last_ names! His is at the beginning, mine’s at the end!” With more venom than a child should be capable of, she hisses, “I _hate_ the alphabet.” 

“O-Kay,” says Richie, truly at a loss. Luckily, she doesn’t seem inclined to talk about it anymore. Instead she stuffs her face back in the pillow, not quite fluffy enough to absorb her lovelorn sigh.

He pets her hair, curling it around his fingers, until the sniffles eventually dwindle. “Do you want us to make you a special dinner? Anything you want,” Richie cajoles.

Nina thinks it over, tilting her cheek enough to say, “Can you ask Daddy to make tuna casserole?”

Richie blanches. “Wha– _Why?”_

“I want my belly to feel as bad as my heart,” she mumbles.

He manages to keep a straight face as he bends to kiss her brow and leaves her to sulk, but it’s a close call. When he reports back to the kitchen with his news, there’s no tact necessary.

Eddie laughs ‘til he’s out of breath. “It isn’t funny,” he repeats, slightly winded.

“Of course not,” Richie agrees, failing to stifle his own grin.

“I love her, I’m sorry she’s hurting, but she’s so–”

“Theatric?”

“She gets that from you,” Eddie accuses.

“Excuse a _moi?”_ Richie balks. “This, coming from the guy who kissed me out of the deadlights like some low-budget horror rebut of _Sleeping_ _Beauty?”_

“What, should I have let the clown eat you?” Eddie glances his way, slyly. “I was referring to middle school. When you spent an entire night cranking your mom’s Bonnie Tyler records because I said you kind of looked like a frog, and you remembered how three weeks ago I told Bev I’d never kiss a frog even if it turned into a handsome prince?”

“Fucking Stanley,” Richie huffs. “I _swore_ him to secrecy. We spit on it and everything.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “At least for Nina, it’s only a crush. It could be worse,” he scoffs. “They could be dating.”

Richie tries to school his expression, he _does_ , but – the thing is. After spending almost their whole fucking lives together, minus those twenty-two years of amnesia in between, Eddie can spot his tells from a mile away.

“Wait. They are?!” He slaps a hand over his mouth, aghast. “Our daughter is dating a _nose-picker?”_

He says it with the disdain of someone describing a serial killer.

“Ugh, Rich, that– _ew!_ What if they hold hands after h– _he–”_

The suggestion of it alone has Eddie bending over the sink.

“Babe, c’mon.” Richie soothes a palm up-and-down his spine. “You’ve drilled the importance of hand-washing into Nina since she could walk. I doubt she’s carrying around any clingers.”

On cue, Eddie lets loose another dry heave.

“Will you stop?” he groans, glaring over his shoulder at Richie. “This is _awful_. Literally, of all the kids in her class, why _this_ one?” 

“You’re blowing this way out of proportion,” says Richie, though Eddie’s eyebrows beg to differ. He loves his husband, deeply, irrevocably, but he’s also one of most ridiculous people on the planet. “Remember, we like Jonas? Jonas is nice! If a little unsanitary… He’ll grow out of it, though! Like I did.”

The words leave his mouth before his brain can flash any of the red warning signs. Slowly, ever so slowly, Eddie turns. They lock eyes. His gaze brims with the horror of this realization.

“Are you saying,” Eddie begins, dangerously low, “that you used to pick _your_ nose when we were kids a-and then, you’d _touch_ me with your booger fingers?”

“Used to?” Richie grabs Eddie as he turns on his heel, hauling him back before he really does leave him for an incredibly buff mailman.

“Babe!” he chuckles. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I swear! I swear on Ben’s chiseled abs!”

“Disgusting, you’re disgusting,” Eddie grumbles, wriggling in his grasp. “Let go of me, don’t even think of touching me with–”

All of a sudden, Eddie _squeals_ , wracked with a full-bodied spasm.

“With what?” Richie taunts, tickling his sides. “With these filthy, boogery fingers of mine?”

“St–op!” Eddie wheezes. “I’m gonna piss my pants!”

“Don’t exploit my pee kink,” he snaps, which only makes Eddie wheeze harder.

“I’ve had my fingers in your ass,” Richie reminds. “In fact, you _love_ my fingers in your ass.”

He watches the flush crawl up Eddie's neck. “Fuck you, that is extremely different!”

“You’re right, it’s probably _more_ disgusting.” Teeth skirting over his earlobe, Richie leans down, his voice a sultry hush, “Because I like to use my mouth there, too.”

Eddie muffles a moan into his fist. “I see what you’re doing,” he grits out. “And it won’t work. No way I’m sleeping with you now, _nose_ - _picker.”_

Richie makes a wounded noise, clutching him more firmly to his chest. “Please, Eds, _baby_ , I can change! I’ll go to meetings, therapy– I’ll never stick my finger anywhere you don’t want again!”

“I don’t know if I can ever look at you the same.” Eddie’s reply cuts off into a giggle as those fingers attack his flank. “Seriously, Rich, I am going to–!” 

They’re interrupted by the violent swing of Nina’s door against the wall.

“Will you two keep it down?!” she shouts. “I’m _trying_ to mourn!”

The door slams shut again. They gawk at each other in silence. Finally, Richie pools enough blood into his brain to speak.

“Are we terrible parents?”

Eddie kisses the underside of his chin. “Ask me that when your semi _isn’t_ plastered against my ass,” he says, flatly.

*

*

*

@ _ **trashmouth**_ _ ** _tozier_**

 _Hi_ _my_ _name_ _is_ _Richie_ _and_ _I’m_ _a_ _recovering_ _nose_ - _picker. Ages 3 thru 9 were rough, but with the support of my dear husband, I’ve managed to keep my fingers clean. Hope my story can help inspire someone else xx_

*

*

*

_6:10pm_

**Bev** : why did Eddie ask for the number of my divorce lawyer ?

_6:14pm_

**Bev** : nvm I saw your tweet

**Author's Note:**

> Am I projecting my own gag reflex onto Eddie? Perhaps. Am I certain that my characterization is still spot-on? Also yes.
> 
> Tell me what you thought of this silly little fic down below!


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